Lady Without A Surname
by Youkomon
Summary: [Post Dreamscape] Rose grew up without anyone to name 'Daddy' or 'Uncle' except for the man who called himself 'Huntsmaster'. An interesting confrontation arises in which hardly any words are spoken. Merely actions and memories dictate the mood.


Written before Homecoming, which might explain all the inconsistencies. Gah. At any rate I think Rose is a lot darker than the cartoon ever made her out to be. After all, the only father figure she had was a hunting-obessed madman. Considering her background, she grew up to be really stable.

* * *

Softly. In. Out. In. Out.

Rose could feel the meditative pull on her lung muscles as she almost choked on the subtle twitch within her. It had been there for a while now, existing ever since those same red scales she had been determined to pry off the cold, clammy body of a mere reptile-_disgusting creature_-had turned out to belong to the pleading eyes of her boyfriend. Rose was many things, she had been taught to do many, many things, not all of them suitable for the optimistic ears of her keen Jake; but she could not give the sting of death to the boy who made her realise the monster inside herself.

Hiding her emotions was one thing she could always thank the Huntsclan for though. This was a technique honed to perfection long before she reached ten years of age and it pounded her body over into a composed state of pebble-smooth coldness. Her breathing remained constant, even in the presence of the second most influential male in her life. He was before her now, thick boots, scarred face-_disgusting creature_- and he had raised her. Once upon a time she had even come close to loving him.

He had been fairly tolerant as mentors go she supposed. He had paid for her clothing, let her have a social life of sorts-_haggling with goblins straight after the prom_-, let her coat the walls of her room in a sickly shade of pink paste and read her borderline cut books about unicorns when she was five. It wasn't until now of course that she realised the necessity of all those tasks; not a kind word lay behind them. She needed a dual identity in order to function in the real world; a socially inadept Huntsgirl was of no use to anyone. Even those crinkled picture books held a sober note. He had sat on the edge of her bed, just out of reach of his age-worn hands and told her of rainbows and silver-haired horses who were just that little bit extra special. Just like she was.

Chosen one.

And then he dragged her into a grey street, out into the shadow of a pretty girl who waved and said hello…and had eight, clicking legs that become knobbed and whittled down to their brittle core with spidery hairs. And she had screamed.

'You are one of us now little one.'

All these beasts were repugnant he told her. They all had to be erased from the history of the earth. And once he had held up before the salivating jaws of a three headed dog and forced her blonde-spittle head into the circulating stench of a mountain troll's lair, she had shared that same fear and rage of incomprehension that had made the clan so powerful.

Destiny.

The awareness of a magical community had been drilled into her forcibly. And she couldn't help but hate him for that. And yet, in her own unsettled way, thank him for it too. It had helped her understand just how strong Jake really was. How strong she had to be.

And now the only father she would ever be able to know was standing before her, hands gift-wrapped in gloves comprising of the skin of a recently murdered mythical beast. Just another tally she would conviently miss out when breathlessly recounting her experiences into Jake's wide-eyed expression. She couldn't save them all. And she wasn't sure whether Jake was able-_whether he wanted_-to understand that yet.

Rose didn't feel sick at the deceit. She never felt sick.

"Huntsgirl."

She could never be a flower in his presence. How ironic then that he expected her to grow beneath his care.

"I have something…to show you."

Her feelings flickered just for an instance. A mere substitute for surprise. Her master never paused.

"You are a young girl now. And despite your approach into adulthood, I have noticed some disturbing activity in your last computer session…"

Her heart started to beat, a dizzying flow of adrenalin sweeping through her tensioned limbs.

The Huntsmaster watched her carefully, eyes never changing their shape or tone, just watching. _Her._

"You were doing research on family trees. And you were looking up newspaper archives for baby kidnappings over a decade ago."

She noticed his eyes on her hand and glanced down to see a shimmering mass of red crawl out between her fingers. Horrified, she uncurled them to see ragged marks on her palm, angry blood welling up even within their insistent touch.

"M-master!"

A stammer. A flaw in her perfection.

His eyes tightened.

"You were never stolen Huntsgirl. You were already claimed. Marked by the Hunstclan. You have no mother. She died long ago."

He turned, the beginning of a lie already being spun out into a fable between his teeth.

"And this is the 'something' of hers I wish to give you."

A hard motion from his hands and something hidden and unseen was thrust into the open. A trickle of light caught the object as it sailed through the air and Rose caught sight of the same blue she had been smiling out of on the night of her prom. Her hands were already reaching out, emotion making her fingers clumsy in the air, blood gushing a miniature waterfall down her wrist.

The photo reached the floor, tiny snake-like cracks weaving their ways across the glass barrier. Rose let out a strangled cry.

Mother.

And stared at the woman who looked nothing like the one in her dream a few weeks back.

Anger churned in her gut as she observed the tawny strands of brown wires in place of gold, cheap freckles instead of pale whiteness and a deep sadness that had never appeared in her mother's face. But the anguish…it called out to her.

Had her mother felt like that when her second daughter had been pulled out of her unsuspecting arms? And because of what? A birthmark?

Had she ever given up?

Rose!

The name seemed to stretch out across the woman's face and for a moment the photo shimmered. And Rose was haunted by the eyes that looked so much like her own. _Trapped._

The Huntmaster nodded down at the picture, never missing a faint trace of protest from his young charge.

"This is your mother."

Liar.

Rose stared upwards, fists already holding the photo in a wild grip.

"Thank you Master."

There was no way to tell if he knew whether she was lying or not. She guessed she never would. From now on that was all that would ever exist between them. Walls of deceit, building layer upon layer of each other. And when the walls came tumbling down, she hoped she would hurt him as much as he had wounded her. God, she wanted it to hurt so badly.

He paused.

"She would have been so proud of you."

She stared at the inexplicable softness. She had almost forgotten he was human. And despite all he had done to her, there was some part of him that had bandaged up her leg when she broke it and made sure she took all the right food groups to school. That part had overseen her childhood. And no child can forget the hands that raised them. His had been brutal and she had never considered all the lies they held.

He had used 'would'. He had used the past tense. He had lied. And she could never forgive him for that.

But because some part of him had raised her, he had given her the photograph of an unknown woman. A voiceless woman with the same eyes as hers.

"Goodnight Huntsgirl."

He had stopped calling her Rose after she had had first donned the uniform she would die in.

"Goodnight Master."

She had stopped calling him Dad after she realised what real dads do.

The two stared at each other before their eyes dropped and their feet moved away.

"Pleasant dreams."

Rose halted. Her eyes burned. And she breathed.

Hate you too.


End file.
